A Red String of Fate and Other Crap
by Yombatable
Summary: Now, Arthur didn't know much about his soulmate. He didn't know anything, in fact, other than two things. The first: They lived north of Arthur. The second: They were a colossal arsehole. ScotEng. One-Shot. (And also a vaguely smutty omake)
1. A Red String of Fate and Other Crap

**IDK WHAT THIS IS BUT FUCK IT. I'm a sap and I wrote a soulmates AU, okay? I'm sorry, I thought I was better than this too, but it seems I'm a slave to these arseholes and now I'm just in desperate need of them in general.**

 **Also this ones longer than my usual fics, so you've got that to look forward to! (I guess)**

 **And another thing: This is totally supposed to be called "A Red String of Fate and Other Bollocks" But I'm pretty sure fanfiction would have _my_ bollocks for that so I went with the far less interesting name pictured above.**

 **Enjoy! ;)**

* * *

Now, Arthur didn't know much about his soulmate. He didn't know anything, in fact, other than two things.

The first: They lived north of Arthur.

The second: They were a colossal arsehole.

This second point, Arthur had discovered when he was eleven. His soulmate had a habit of fiddling with the string tied to their fingers, meaning it pulled and wiggled a lot during the day, and this was something Arthur had gotten used to. His friends told him that their soulmates sometimes did it too, and judging by the ways their hands would jerk sometimes, he was inclined to believe them.

When he was in the middle of a test, however, and his right hand kept being pulled at while he was trying to write, it was understandable, perhaps, for Arthur to get more than a little irritated, and tug on the string in retaliation. That, of course, only made his soulmate tug back harder, running a line of ink all the way across the page.

This, of course, meant _war_ , in Arthur's eleven year old brain.

Not a minute later, he found himself on the floor, dragged harshly from his chair by the string, the entire class staring at him as if he were out of his mind. He looked up at the teacher's unamused expression with a sheepish smile, holding up his hand, which had stopped being pulled at, Arthur noted irritably. "It was my soulmate, miss," he said, making her eyes narrow.

"Well, since your soulmate can't serve detention, you will have to take their place, now won't you?"

Arthur stared at her unrelenting face pleadingly for a moment before nodding and getting back up onto his chair with a resigned, "Yes, miss."

That didn't stop him, of course, from yanking the string as hard as he could when the teacher looked back down. The sudden release of pressure on the string that signalled his soulmate had suffered a similar fate to his own was satisfaction enough for him, especially when all he got in return was a soft tug that seemed to say, "Alright, you win."

Arthur got a lot of detentions because of his soulmate. Be it because he was playing cat's cradle with the string during class time, or because his soulmate seemed to really enjoy their little tug-of-wars, but either way, indirectly or no, Arthur decided blaming his soulmate was easier. Because this red string of fate bollocks is what got him in into this mess, and his soulmate was at least half responsible for that, and in turn any and all detentions that came as a result of said red string of fate bollocks.

* * *

It was one night when he was seventeen, doing his homework on the kitchen table while his parents prepared dinner, when the tugging on his finger caught his attention in particular. It wasn't like usual, the random tugging caused by fiddling, or the hard single tugs caused by their tug-of-wars, it was a simple pattern of long pulls and short pulls repeating over and over again. It took him a moment of confusion, but it struck him rather suddenly that his soulmate was trying to communicate with him, tugging on the string in morse code to convey a message.

Quickly he pulled out his phone and brought up a morse alphabet chart, this was closely followed by a piece of paper, where he jotted down the sequence of pulls.

Short, short, short. Pause. Long, long, long. Pause. Short, short, short.

After that was a long pause which Arthur assumed meant the message was over, until it started over again.

Once he translated the message, his eyes widened, "Mum! Dad! Come here!"

The two of them turned around, confusion on their faces, "What is it-" his mum began, but he cut her off with a shake of his head, signalling that they come over.

"I think my soulmate's in trouble!" he said, showing them the paper, "They just sent me this!"

His parent's stared at the note for a moment, before turning back to Arthur, with a sort of fear in their eyes, "Just now?"

Arthur nodded.

"Send them back this message," his father began, sitting down and grabbing the pen and paper, jotting down a sequence of dots and dashes and handing it to Arthur.

"What does it say?"

"What's wrong."

The reply he got was, "Fell," his dad read out after translating, and Arthur was silently grateful of all those years his dad had spent learning shit he didn't think he'd ever need. His dad handed him another message, "This one says 'where'."

The reply was, "Glasgow."

"Address?"

"Park. Seven Lochs."

"Details."

"Don't know. Trees."

His dad sighed heavily, leaning forward, "Honey, call 999, we need to at least try to help this kid."

Arthur waited with the patience of a saint as his parents talked to the operator on the other end of the call, chewing his lip raw as they explained the situation. It seemed like an eternity until his parents turned to him again, still on the line, and wrote out another message for him to send.

"2 hours." His dad said, when Arthur handed back the reply.

Arthur played lightly with the string as he waited for them to ask another question. Curiously, he pulled the alphabet back up and clumsily asked, "Name?"

The reply he got was, "Alistair."

So his soulmate was a guy. A guy who was a twat and had fallen, hurt himself, and then had no way of calling for help other than a piece of mystical string only some kid god knows how far south of him could see and feel. He was lucky Arthur had noticed it was morse, although how and why the guy knew morse was beyond him.

"Last?" he asked.

"MacDonald."

"His name is Alistair MacDonald," He called to his dad, who nodded and repeated that to the operator.

Arthur chewed on his lip again, "Are you ok?" he sent.

It took a long moment for the reply to come, "Been worse. Sorry."

"We'll help."

"Thank you."

Before Arthur could reply, his dad caught his attention again, taking the phone away from his ear and pressing 'end call', "They're on their way to find him, they say to keep in contact with him to make sure he's alright, and they'll give us a call back as soon as they find him.

Arthur pursed his lips, nodding his thanks and glancing at the string and twisting it around his finger. What would have happened if the twat didn't know morse code, or if Arthur didn't speak English, for all Alistair knew he could be anywhere south of Glasgow, which included a great many countries where they _don't_ speak English. That thought makes his stomach turn, more than incredibly grateful that his soulmate didn't live in Iceland, as he'd previously feared.

He felt a tug again.

"Your name?"

Oh right, he was supposed to keep talking to him, goodness knows he'd want to keep talking in Alistair's situation.

"Arthur." He replied.

"I always wondered." Arthur wasn't sure if there was supposed to be more to that message, but he replied nonetheless.

"Me too."

"Are they coming?"

"Yes."

"Soon? I'm bored."

"I think so. This is your fault."

"True. Still bored."

"How'd it happen?"

"I'm an idiot."

"I agree."

"Oi."

"You said it first."

Their conversation was slow and fumbling, with Arthur having to write out his message before he sent it, and having to translate Alistair's ones back, but Alistair didn't seem to mind. He was probably just glad to have someone to talk to, Arthur supposed.

"They're here." Came a message about half an hour later, and Arthur breathed out a sigh of relief, "Thank you."

"No problem." Arthur replied, as he heard his dad's phone ring.

After a moment, his dad came back into the kitchen, handing him the phone with a strange sort of smile, "Here, there's someone who wants a word."

He took the phone, holding it to his ear, "Hello?"

"Hey there," answered a gravely Scottish voice, sounding more than a little worn down, "Is this the sarcastic shit on the other end of my piece of string?"

Arthur's eyes narrowed, but he couldn't help a slight smile come to his face, "I don't know, is this the idiotic pillock who got himself stuck without any means of communication other than said piece of string?"

Alistair chuckled sheepishly, "Yeah, I'm so sorry about this. I'd hoped we'd meet under better circumstances. I had something all romantic thought out."

"What happened?" Arthur asked, pointedly ignoring the last part of Alistair's comment, happier now, at least, that he didn't have to go through three stages of translation for each answer.

"I went for a walk, lost my scarf up a tree in the wind, tried to get it back, fell off, and I landed on my ankles funny."

"Did you break them?" Arthur asked with a crinkle of his brow.

"I bloody hope not, although they feel like they might as well be."

They lapsed into silence for a short moment, until Alistair spoke again, "Thank you, I mean it."

"Don't mention it," Arthur replied, fiddling with the string, "I could hardly ignore a cry for help from a damsel in distress such as you, now could I?"

"Yeah, yeah, you wouldn't be so smug if it were you in the stretcher." Alistair chuckled a bit, "And will you stop playing with the string, you keep pulling the phone away from my ear."

"Use your other hand then, you prat," Arthur replied, giving the string another tug, and felt a strange warmth in his belly when the string was tugged back.

They talked for a while, until the paramedics took the phone from Alistair and asked that Arthur give the phone back to his dad, to which Arthur was unsure if he was being patronized or not.

There were two more things he'd learned about his soulmate that day.

The first: His name was Alistair MacDonald.

The second: He was as much of an arsehole as he'd thought.

* * *

Alistair _had_ broken his ankles. The twat. And had been resigned to using a wheelchair until they healed, which he complained about almost non-stop for the first week or so, not that Arthur minded all that much, too giddy about establishing contact with his soulmate to care about him being a bit of a grump. He teased him, naturally, but it seemed Alistair was also too giddy to care, which made Arthur more than a little smug.

Arthur wasn't sure how the papers had gotten a hold of their story, but he (Or more specifically his parents) had received several phone calls from several news outlets wanting to cover the story. Alistair had been contacted too, or so he said. Apparently he'd told them to fuck off because what happened between them was going to stay that way, the last thing he wanted was to become reality TV fodder, which made Arthur more than a little relieved. They'd covered the story anyway, naturally, but their names had been blissfully omitted, and so despite the apparent talk that was going around of the government passing a law that made learning morse code mandatory in schools, they were hardly affected.

Alistair, as he soon found out, was attending university up in Glasgow, and, at the tender age of twenty had been working on his degree in nursing for two years already. He had been slightly hesitant when he found out that Arthur was only seventeen, but after Arthur's slightly angry and defensive rant, he'd laughed and told him that when Arthur turned eighteen he'd take the train down to London and they could meet. Which was practically torture because his birthday was more than six months away and Alistair was really starting to grow on him, the arsehole.

And he meant that in the best possible way, of course.

His parents scolded him more than once about late-night Skype calls, but even though most of the time they just bickered, he really liked talking to the Scottish bastard. As much as he hated to admit it.

It was one night when he'd been helping Alistair study for a test, because it was the next day and all of his mates had decided that the pub was more interesting than studying, and that the guy in a wheelchair would really dampen the mood. Alistair slumped over the desk in the weak light of his desk lamp, that he felt like he could fall in love with him, given the chance.

"You should go to sleep, it'll do you no good, being this tired."

Alistair had looked up at him drowsily, "You're right, but I still need-"

"Sleep, you need sleep."

Alistair had frowned at his worried expression, "You don't have to mother-hen me all the time I-"

"Can't seem to take care of yourself," Arthur interrupted quickly, deepening his frown, "I don't want to see you all run out of your skin, get some sleep, please?" Alistair looked up at his quiet plea, "For me, Alistair."

He stared at him for a moment until his eyes went soft and he nodded, his wheelchair rolling slightly away from the desk as he pushed himself upright. "Alright," he sighed, "I'll go to bed, goodnight Arthur."

"Goodnight Alistair, I mean it, if I find out you kept going after this call ends then I swear-"

"I promise," Alistair smiled, pressing the knotted part of his bit of string to his lips lightly, making Arthur's heart do an awful wobbly thing, "Sleep well, Artie."

Arthur smiled, kissing the knot on his own finger, "I will, goodnight."

And then Alistair hung up the call with a tug on the string and a tired wave.

Another two things to be learnt about Alistair MacDonald.

The first: He was as stubborn as a mule.

The second: The arsehole didn't know how to take care of himself.

* * *

It was just before the turn of the new year, thirty seconds to go, when Arthur's phone went off. Seeing it was Alistair he picked it up immediately and was greeted by Alistair's laughing voice saying, "Hey there princess, you ready?"

Arthur ignored the name in favour of the occasion, and simply replied with a "Yes," as the clock ticked down to ten seconds.

"Ten."

"Hey, Artie?"

"Nine."

"Yeah?"

"Eight."

"I'm gonna tell you-"

"Seven."

"Something in the-"

"Six."

"New year."

"Five."

"Should I be worried?"

"Four."

Alistair chuckled, "No."

"Three."

"Alright."

"Two."

"Here we go."

"One."

" ** _Happy new year!_** "

Arthur cheered along with his family and Alistair over the phone, before slipping out into the hallway, away slightly from the noise, and giving his attention back to Alistair, twirling their string around his finger, "Okay, what is it you wanted to say?"

Alistair sighed, a happy noise that made Arthur smile faintly, "Just that I wouldn't want anyone else for a soulmate."

Arthur chuckled, "Not even Nathalie Portman?"

"I'm gay, Arthur."

Arthur rolled his eyes, "Okay, Brad Pitt, I'm not picky about gender, I just wanna know if you'd give me up for nice arse and a large bank account."

"If I said no, would you believe me?"

"Not at all."

Alistair laughed, making Arthur bite his lip against a smile. Alistair had a great laugh, it barrelled right through you and got stuck on your lips so you couldn't help but smile when you heard it. He sighed, "Nah, I can't compete with Angelina Jolie, but I _know_ you don't have someone else."

"Hey!"

Alistair's laugh cut off his objection, "I'm kidding, you're too sensitive Artie."

"Arthur!" A shout from the doorway caught his attention and he looked up to see his cousin beckoning him out into the garden, "Talk to your boyfriend later," he said, "Come and watch the fireworks!"

He nodded, "I gotta go, Alistair, I'll call you tomorrow- or, today, I suppose... okay?"

"Bye Artie. Love you."

He felt a tug on his string, and a similar one on his heart. His eyes widened just a little, before he blurted, with perhaps the least grace this phrase has ever been said, "Love you too," and putting the phone down, running outside into the cool, because his face was suddenly rather hot.

The soft tugging he felt on his string a short while later that most definitely spelled out "I LOVE U" most certainly didn't help his face cool down, and in hindsight it probably would have helped to ignore it instead of replying "U 2", but he just couldn't help it.

Two more things he now knew about Alistair MacDonald.

The first: He loved Arthur, which was a thought that made Arthur's head spin.

The second: The arsehole was going to get a punch when they finally saw each other for making Arthur feel like a hormonal teenager fawning over their soulmate.

And granted, that's exactly what he was, but that was entirely irrelevant. Arthur Kirkland was better than this, and this whole red string of fate bollocks was ruining it. Alistair had turned him into a sap, and he didn't think he'd ever be able to forgive him.

* * *

"My friends think I'm a dick for making you wait until your eighteenth birthday," Alistair said lazily, as he lounged on his bed, wiggling his toes as he revelled in finally being healed and out of his wheelchair, his laptop perched on his desk so he was still visible on the webcam.

Arthur huffed irritably, plucking absentmindedly at his guitar strings, " _I_ think you're a dick for making me wait until my eighteenth birthday," he muttered, just loud enough for Alistair to hear and send a laugh his way.

"So eager for my dick already, Princess?" He cooed, smirking over at the webcam.

Arthur returned the look, "I've got plenty of dick, I don't need yours."

The low growl of jealousy was exactly what Arthur was looking for, but didn't acknowledge it, rather, turned back down to his guitar to play a few chords. "And what exactly does that mean?"

And Arthur would be lying if that tone didn't send excited little shivers down his spine, "It means I've got to get satisfaction from _somewhere_ and my soulmate happens to live up in _Scotland_." His reply was perhaps a little colder than he meant it, and he deliberately lowered his voice to something silky as he continued, "I'm sure you're aware of just how many people are in my situation."

Perhaps it was immature of Arthur to goad him on like this, but Arthur _really_ wanted this to turn into Skype sex, because fuck it, if they couldn't have real sex then this was the next best thing. He figured jealousy was usually a sure-fire way to get Alistair all hot and possessive (something he liked more than he'd ever care to admit) and that _that_ would be enough for Skype sex to turn from fantasy into reality.

When Arthur looked back up, Alistair was at the desk, his frown, and burning eyes, directly in front of the camera. "I'm sure I do. I had rather hoped you wouldn't whore yourself out to every dick that swung in your direction, though."

Arthur fought desperately to hold back his grin, "I'm afraid I can't live up to your expectations, I'm a horrible soulmate to you, really, I am. I'm terribly sorry."

"I don't believe you," Alistair said, and his mouth twitched up in the corner which told him that Alistair had _definitely_ caught on to what he was doing, "Why don't you show my how sorry you _really_ are?"

Arthur could no longer hold back his grin, "And how can I do that?"

"Well..."

Another two things to be learned about Alistair MacDonald.

The first: He was _incredibly_ good at dirty talk.

The second: As soon as Arthur's birthday arrived, the arsehole would get to consider himself an _extremely_ lucky man.

* * *

Arthur had insisted that his parents didn't come with him to meet with Alistair, but he had about as much chance of that happening as he did of winning the lottery, so it was with more than a hint of reluctance that he stood outside the train station, kicking his heels, with his parents standing beside him.

He was more than a little nervous. He was man enough to admit that at least. But no matter how much he admitted it to himself, he couldn't get the stupid stomach butterflies to go a-bloody-way. It wasn't like they'd never seen each other, or spoken, or... done other stuff... but somehow meeting him in person and getting to touch him, and hug him, and kiss him, and- He abruptly stopped that train of thought.

It was already mortifying enough that his parents were there, the last thing he needed was them seeing him pop a boner. The _absolute fucking last_!

"Nervous, honey?" His mother asked, putting a hand on his shoulder.

When he went to reply, he became rather suddenly aware that he was chewing through his lip. "Of course I am," he replied tensely, "What else am I supposed to be?" Even as he spoke to her, his conflicted frown didn't leave the entrance to the station.

She chuckled, "Oh, I know, it was terribly nerve-wracking when I met your father for the first time, but I'm sure you'll be fine, we got no prior warning after all, you've had months to prepare for this."

Arthur grimaced, and remained dutifully silent, neglecting to mention that he's also had months to fret about it. Even despite the fact that there was nothing, at all, to fret _about_ , that is.

His grimace left his face, replaced by a look that one might find on a skittish dog that wasn't quite sure if the human coming up to it was going to kick it or hug it, as he spotted a familiar head of red hair walk through the doors and turn in the direction the string was leading him.

Alistair was standing right there. Fuck. Oh bollocks what should he do? Walk over there? Call him over? Meet in the middle with a fanfare and fireworks and a somehow un-fumbled kiss? Oh shit. Alistair was smiling and he didn't have any idea what the fuck to do about it! Shit, _shit, SHIT._

He found his hands twisted in their string, and Alistair seemed to chuckle, following his hand which had been dragged up and toward Arthur by the motion. Arthur quickly decided that this was as good a tactic as any, since it meant he didn't have to go anywhere. He couldn't say for certain what exactly his legs would do if made to do so, but he was sure it would be something idiotic, and he really had hoped to keep idiocy out of it.

By the time Alistair got to him, Arthur's hand was tied up in string, his lip firmly chewed once again. Alistair smiled at him, and Arthur was pleased to find that it was just as appealing up close as it was over Skype. More so, in fact, which was a definite bonus.

Alistair twisted his own hand into the tangle of string and fingers, Arthur finding a smile on his own face, even though he really wasn't sure exactly what emotions were running through him. A smile seemed appropriate at any rate.

"Hey, Princess," Alistair said, and hearing his voice without the filter of telecommunication was really much more satisfying than it should have been.

Arthur reached up to run his free hand over Alistair's cheek, "I hate that nickname."

Alistair's smile widened, and he leaned forward to press their foreheads together, two inches, Arthur lamented irritably, but not so irritably that it stopped the stupid smile that just wouldn't fuck off.

"Nah you don't," Alistair smirked, and it was completely and utterly infuriating because it was completely and utterly endearing and Arthur could feel his face heating up.

So naturally Arthur did the one thing that would guarantee Alistair not seeing, and that was closing the distance between them. Wapping his free arm around Alistair's neck, and clutching the tangle of fingers and strings tighter, he kissed him, rather thoroughly if he did say so himself.

When Alistair kissed back, he quite successfully forgot that his parents were there, until his mother coughed, and Alistair let him go with a laugh.

He looked up at them, over Arthur's head, which had tucked itself happily into the place where his neck met his shoulders, because seeing his parents faces after that is not something Arthur wanted to do, and smiled widely. "Hello Mr. And Mrs. Kirkland," he said squeezing Arthur's hand so that Arthur could feel the knot of the string around his little finger against the knot of his own, and it hit him, all of a sudden, that his soulmate was hugging him, and that Alistair was his soulmate, and the red happy flush that coloured his cheeks then was _definitely_ not something he wanted to show his parents.

Alistair let Arthur go, and Arthur begrudgingly let him go too, because he should probably let the guy meet his parents. At least Alistair didn't let go of his hand, he thought a little _too_ happily.

His parent's held out their hands simultaneously, Alistair shaking each of them once.

"We're so glad to finally meet you," said his dad through a smile, "The guy who's been taking up so much of our son's time."

Alistair chuckled, "Sorry about that, but Artie's about the only one who can keep me in check."

"Reckless fuckhead," Arthur grumbled, too low for his parents to hear, but loud enough that Alistair snorted out a laugh.

"Shall we get going?" His mum asked, "We can chat over a cup of tea when we get home."

Alistair nodded, "That would be great, the stuff they serve on the trains is shite."

Yet another two things he'd learned about Alistair MacDonald.

The first: He was really rather fantastic at snogging.

The second: There was not a single doubt in Arthur's mind that he fucking loved the arsehole.

And really, with their hands all tied up in the string that tied them together, what else was a guy to do but fall in love with the one on the other end of it?


	2. Omake

**So I wrote the Omake! I'm trying to work myself slowly up to writing proper smut, but right now, this will have to do. It's better than nothing and I had fun writing it, so... yeah. Fuck. I'm trying. That should count for something.**

 **Enjoy! ;)**

* * *

Arthur's parents were, quite possibly, the least subtle people Arthur knew. They'd left the house not ten minutes ago because "Oh no, it seems we're out of milk, we better pop out and get some, you boys behave!" Which was their way of saying, "We're going to give you some alone time, but we won't be _too_ long, so you better not get up to anything _too_ fun." Right at this moment, however, Arthur couldn't find it in himself to complain, lain out on his bed as he was, with his shirt removed and Alistair's suspiciously skilled mouth travelling down to his waistband.

Arthur smiled lazily as Alistair tangled their fingers in the string again, looking down at where he was looking up at him with lidded eyes and an equally lazy smile. Arthur pulled him up, kissing him soundly on the mouth as he wrapped his legs around Alistair's arse and ground their hips together. Alistair hummed out a moan into his mouth, returning the gesture and making them both gasp into the kiss at the exact same moment.

"Shit, Alistair," Arthur groaned, his hands like vices around Alistair's shoulders, "Shit, I'm so glad you're here."

Alistair nodded, planting a solid kiss on Arthur's lips, "Me too," he breathed, laughing out a moan as Arthur ground up on him particularly pleasantly. "Oh god," he muttered into Arthur's neck, "I wanna fuck you so badly," Arthur's breath caught in a moan, but Alistair kept going, "I wanna feel you. Feel you and your tight little arse."

"Fuck," Arthur managed breathily, "God, Alistair, me too, but there is no way we have time."

And in truth, Arthur wanted absolutely nothing more than to lose the jeans, ditch the dry humping, and get straight down to business. But there was absolutely _no way_ he was getting caught with his pants down by his parents. He'd have to move out then and there. Granted, he was sure Alistair would take him in, but- well, now that he thought about it, it really didn't seem like all that bad of an idea.

They didn't speak for a while after that, their lips were much busier doing other things, like kissing and panting and moaning, because _holy fuck_ could Alistair move his hips in the best ways. It didn't take long for them to turn into puddles of goo at each other's feet, completely at the mercy of each other as they turned desperate in their search for release.

It took Alistair whispering breathily into his ear, in what was more a moan than anything, "Come for me, Arthur, you little slut," for Arthur to throw his head back and gasp out Alistair's name, completely uncaring of the mess he knew he'd made of himself.

Arthur groaned out a breathless note as Alistair continued to press down into him, and he brought Alistair's face up to look at him, his eyes glazed over and desperate and _oh fuck I'm completely doomed._ He readjusted his legs around Alistair's hips, wiggling his own and making Alistair _moan_ , "Come on, baby," he said his words a little slurred in the presence of Alistair's still pressing hips, as Alistair sucked in a shaking breath, "I wanna see that handsome face screw up and call my name."

And that's exactly what he did, his hips juttering against Arthur's, until he collapsed, utterly boneless on top of him. And really, Arthur would have been content to stay that way, had he been able to breathe and had the wet feeling in his pants not become rather unpleasant.

He smiled, pushing at Alistair's shoulders, "Get up you lout," he said lazily, "We can cuddle when we don't have cum in our pants."

Alistair groaned, but rolled off of him, "Okay, fine, ruin the moment," he said playfully, rising and wandering over to his suitcase for a fresh set of clothes.

Arthur watched as he did so, his eyes glancing over the way the string grew to accommodate the distance between them, interesting, but not as interesting as Alistair's bare back which had several red lines and crescent shapes carved into it which was entirely too satisfying. Alistair didn't notice his lack of movement until he was about to pull his jeans down over his arse. He raised an eyebrow, "Like what you see?"

Fuck the smug prick, but... "Of course," Arthur as good as leered, because Alistair really _wasn't_ unattractive in the slightest. And the fact that he'd rather clearly been working out really didn't hurt matters.

Alistair smiled a little smugly at that, "Well _you_ were the one who said we didn't have time," he said, pulling his jeans down all the way, and _oh my god he has freckles on his arse_. Not many, but very prominent, and absolutely fantastic for reasons Arthur couldn't fully articulate.

He slipped off the bed, and came up behind him, pinching one of the tiny brown dots, "Nice freckles," He grinned, ignoring Alistair's comment in favour of seeing the frown and slight pink tint that came to his face.

Before he could reply, there was the distinct sound of a door opening and closing downstairs and Arthur's parents calling out that they'd returned. "Shit, they're home, get some trousers on you twit."

Alistair rolled his eyes as Arthur fumbled over grabbing himself a new pair, pulling his own on, along with the shirt he'd been wearing beforehand, the two of them slipping out the door and downstairs together in record time.

Two more things Arthur now knew about Alistair MacDonald.

The first: he had freckles on his arse.

The second: if he made one more (un)subtle innuendo, Arthur was going to make it his personal mission to sew his mouth firmly shut.


	3. Not A Chapter, I'm Just Excited

It's official. My mother can finally be proud of me. I made it. I'm kidding but Mamin the troll on Tumblr (Avalon-Avalanche on here) made this sweet-ass fanart of this story, and you should go and shower it with praise and adoration because it's amazing. BEHOLD!

Put their URL (mamin-the-troll) before this: post / 127886317573 / this-from-yombatable-s-fiction-a-red-string-of

(I'm sorry, I don't know how to make it easier for you to find it, this is the best I can do, but I'm excited so I had to try. I wish fanfiction wasn't such a bitch about links, it;s ridiculous)


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